being at home, a work in progress
twirling, 2 seperate small journeys, balancing each other on a thin reed (I would very much like to keep them together ánd on this delicate stalk, however I think I will have to find something sturdier) there are already so many stitches, yet so many more to go, like living life come to think of it
The dress & the windsock each have a house, a home.
I realise homes can mean many different things, depending on where you happened to land.
If you are lucky you were born into a home where you were made to feel welcome and loved, protected and safe, most of the time anyway; however there are many homes where growing up would be a pretty lonely affair, loveless, violent even; the blue-print for our lives is set, it impacts on how we dare te dream; no matter that we always have a choice once we’re all grown-up and responsible for our own actions; it is hard work this business of living a life.......we sleep, eat, watch tv, make love, relax, fight in our homes; we watch our children growing up, leaving and returning home.
We might be bored by the humdrum familiarity of being at home, and yet, where would we be without this sense of belonging? Lost and looking for ‘a home’ I’m guessing, it took me quite a while to find one